


But the Seamen Were Not Gentlemen

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Age of Sail, Alcohol, Awkwardness, British Military, Cold Weather, Drinking, Education, Fights, Guilt, Inexperience, M/M, Military, Navy, Nighttime, Non-Consensual, Ocean, Sailing, Situational Homosexuality, Slightly Underage, not graphic, sailors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hornblower, overly polite and over-educated Hornblower, would have a hellish time on board the <i>Indefatigable</i>, of that Pellew was sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But the Seamen Were Not Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyebrowofdoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyebrowofdoom/gifts).



> Written for Eyebrow of Doom

Young midshipman Hornblower.

The poor boy was a debt of gratitude, shifted from ship to ship like some cumbersome burden. Keene had obviously taken him on to quieten a grumbling conscious. If Pellew recalled correctly the lad was seventeen, and he certainly looked it, drowning in an ill-fitting uniform. He was still pale like a girl, a slight tan over the high cheekbones the only outright thing to give away time spent at the mercy of the elements at sea. Pellew had long since ceased to regard his own face in the few mirrors on the ship, bar when he shaved, and he knew the merciless sun had added a good decade to his features.

Hornblower, overly polite and over-educated Hornblower, would have a hellish time on board the _Indefatigable_ , of that Pellew was sure. Hornblower took the challenges well, granted, and tackled the obstacles thrown in his path with a murderous determination that the hardiest of the men on board would be hard pressed to repeat, but there were so many things wanting. He knew nothing of the sour longing that burned in the men's chests during the long journeys, and he was blind to the deals and games in which he was a pawn. Pellew knew the games as well as he knew the fact that he had no way of hindering them. Indeed, some of his immediate inferiors assumed that he would join in.

"Mister Hornblower," he called softly, as not to attract the undue attentions of the other men on deck. Hornblower held the dreariest shift, and the raw mist added to its misery.

"Sir?" called Hornblower back, his voice unsteady as he fought to keep his teeth from chattering.

"How goes your watch?" The question was entirely frivolous, of course, and he had no reason to interrogate the men on watch. All the same, he felt he should give the lad a chance to show that he was no longer a greenhorn that had been set to hold the night watches because he would offer no protest.

"It goes well, sir. Captain," stuttered Hornblower. "Somewhat cold, but the air is clear."

Hornblower obviously did not feel at ease speaking freely to his captain, and he fell silent as Pellew did not pursue the discussion further. His gaze was fixed on the waters, the vast darkness stretching out in front of him, but his posture gave away that he was most aware of Pellew's presence. The boy stood as stiff as a board, his knees surely protesting at the strain of keeping the long legs ramrod-straight. Pellew had seen that gait before, and held back a wince as an old memory assailed him. It would seem that things remained the same in Her Imperial Majesty's navy. Certain traditions persisted, and it seemed that the more reproachable ones were the hardiest.

"I should wish to a have word with you in my quarters at the end of your watch, Hornblower," said Pellew, debating with himself whether to fabricate a fanciful explanation. In the end, he decided against it, feeling twice the fool for having considered the option.

 

"Sir?" asked Hornblower, inclining his head where he stood in the low and narrow doorway. The stoop he was forced to affect further heightened the illusion of great height.

It had not taken a few weeks for Hornblower to acquire his sea legs, but months before he walked steadily and assuredly, ducking beams and nimbly stepping over coiled ropes. There was something odd to his gait still, however, as though it were a woman's walk, a touch too dainty. He was used to the clubbed hair now, and no longer flinched when it swung into his line of vision as he turned abruptly. He was still too vain to merely let his hair be, and consequently washed the thin coil of hair at the nape of his neck once a week. One could wonder why Horatio bothered, Pellew reflected, why he preened on a ship full of men who became more and more salt-encrusted for each day that passed, who rubbed the mutton-fat off their hands and into their hair.

It would have been better as well, Pellew thought, if Hornblower had been dealt poorer cards when it came to appearances. As it stood now, the features combined to form a whole that seldom went unnoticed. He himself was not entirely free of guilt, and whenever Hornblower's dark eyes fixed on him, there was a twinge deep in the pit of stomach. Whether it was guilt or irritation, he could not say, and more often than not he resolutely told himself the cause of his unrest was some foodstuff disagreeing with him.

He gave a short little grimace as he sipped his brandy. The thrice-damned sea got into the spirits as well, and there was a salt tone to the alcohol, all of it, from the port to the claret. The salt seeped into a man's pores, made all of him salt. Mouth, skin, hair and sweat, all as salt as sea-water.

"Well, man, don't be ridiculous," said Pellew firmly. "I will not have Dr. Hepplewhite nursing yet another man back to health simply because you have failed to grasp the importance of staying warm. Take that cloak off, it must be soaked by now."

"Sir," said Hornblower through chattering teeth, fumbling with the clasp. His numbed fingers failed to cooperate, and he struggled feebly, his wet hair falling into his eyes. Now more than ever, he looked younger than his years.

"Brandy?" asked Pellew. Hornblower looked taken aback.

"Sir?" asked Hornblower carefully.

"You know more words than that one, Hornblower. Brandy?"

"Yes, sir," answered the boy, a look of puzzlement still on his face. "Thank you, sir."

It should have looked ridiculous, a tall gangling boy of seventeen standing half-dressed in the captain's quarters, a glass of brandy held in a bony hand. It did not. Neither did it look endearing. It seemed painful, as though it were the immediate prelude to something not entirely consensual. Hornblower stole quick glances over the rim of the glass, as though constantly expecting an order.

The nod by way of drink was not lost on Hornblower, and he took to the spirit better than many of his superiors. Nothing to wonder about, Pellew briskly surmised. The boy was a doctor's son, not some dock-rat who had grown up in the harbours. He lacked the hard set to his face that the majority of her Majesty's sailors had, and he seemed more a wide-eyed poet than a midshipman with men to command.

"It is not your watch, Hornblower," he said. "Leave the spying to the watchman. Mr. Kennedy holds this watch, yes?"

"Yes, sir." His gaze still flickered, and he cast the occasional glance ceilingward, as if trying to see through the deck.

"You're as skittish as a foal, Hornblower. You will be of no use to the Navy if you jump at the slightest sound. There is a marked difference between alertness and weak nerves. I am at something of a loss for how your courage manages to rise and plummet so much in so short a time." He paused. "Are you having troubles with the crew?"

Hornblower remained silent.

"Well? Speak freely," urged Pellew. "If you cannot get on with your men, they will not obey you. While I understand that you and Mr. Simpson were not exactly on the friendliest of terms with each other, there is no reason to blame their shortcomings on any perceived lack of discipline on Mr. Simpson's part."

"What contact I had with Mr. Simpson, sir, was not always amicable. There were... altercations," finished Hornblower delicately, looking down at his hands quickly.

Hornblower could have stood to attention, so straight was the posture, and the only thing spoiling the illusion was the dainty grip on the glass he held. Only now did Pellew notice the small half-healed wounds that ran in a strange half-moon shape along Hornblower's knuckles, and only then did he think to associate it with the strangely stiff-legged gait.

Altercations indeed. He knew that kind of altercation all too well, didn't he?

Pellew could hear the bell toll out another watch, a single bell for the first hour of the morning watch. The _Indy_ creaked softly as she settled on the mild swell, and the anchor-chain gave a momentary clatter as it loosened and tightened with the rise and fall. Nothing to watch for. Even the fish slept, silver-glistening schools keeping still in the inky waters around them.

_There were gentlemen and there were seamen in the Navy... but the seamen were not gentlemen and the gentlemen were not seamen._


End file.
